


Sunday's Child

by Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:56:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/pseuds/Slantedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monday's child is fair of face...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday's Child

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sunday's Child](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/46193) by Minerva. 



_Monday’s Child is Fair of Face_  
Raymond Doyle, from the moment he was born, could charm the birds from the trees with his golden curls and his wide, guileless smile. _Just like his father_ they'd say, as his mum promenaded him down the street in his pram, stopping politely for people to coo at him, and tell her how beautiful he was, and tickle his tummy. It was the only thing she didn't mind about that black-hearted bastard, that he'd left her with this wonderful, sunshine-faced boy before they finally locked him up for a good long stretch.

 _Tuesday's Child is Full of Grace_  
But he could fall into rages too, and then there was nothing like the freedom of the night, the way it was so simple to slide through windows, even up walls, and into other people's houses. Sometimes he'd watch them sleep, wandering from bedroom to bedroom, picking up this bauble, that gew-gaw, wonder why they felt so safe in the dark when there were people like him about. Sometimes it turned out to be the house of someone he knew from school, and then he'd be sure to nick some toy that was obviously precious, or hide a secret teddy bear or china doll. Served them right. But the best times were when he was nearly caught, running quick and sure as the devil over the rooftops, skimming down drainpipes and over fences to get away. And he did - every time.

 _You'll be in jail before you're twelve_ his mum would say bitterly, when he turned up in the wee small hours, alive and grinning with the chase. _You're just like your father._

 _Wednesday’s Child is Full of Woe_  
He hadn't meant to say that to his mum, he really hadn't, and he tried to tell her, but she packed him off to his dad's family anyway. Said he could see what it'd be like, if he was going to carry on like that. And now here he was in the hospital, bruised on the _inside_ , where somehow it hurt the most, with nothing to do but sit in the dim night light and wait to see if she came round. He'd always known she was a tart, couldn't help it with those bastards at school, but he hadn't known that his latest _dad_ had been giving her heroin as well. He tried to pray, like they'd told him in RE, but he'd never listened to the real words. So he promised instead, over and over to anyone who was listening, that if they just let her live he'd change, he'd never talk to her like that again, he'd make it better. He'd be _different_. 

_Thursday's Child has Far to Go_  
The bag in his pocket had a strangely comforting feel to it, for something full of so much death and destruction. It was soft and malleable in his fingers, so that he'd almost be sorry to get rid of it at last, to let it fall into Walton's pocket instead. Of course it'd be his again just a few minutes later, and Walton would get what he deserved, drug-pushing bastard. That little bag would see him off the streets for a good long stretch, and the world would be a safer place for everyone. Served him right. Didn't it?

 _Friday’s Child is Loving and Giving_  
Detective Constable Raymond Doyle was a good man, he'd be a good catch, all the women said so. A few of the WPCs had tried their hand, and he'd wined them and dined them, and smiled his beautiful smile at them. He'd been warm and gentle, and he'd looked after them for long, glorious nights, and then he'd let them go again, sliding away with the same caresses and kisses. They didn't really mind by that time, because by then they always knew that he wasn't properly with them, that he always had half his mind on the job, on locking up the next villain, on trying to protect the next hapless innocent to walk through the station door and ask for help. He'd rarely be there for them to fete with breakfast in bed, the next day. You can't look after everyone all the time, some of them said, shaking their heads, and he'd smile at them, and distract them with a murmur in their ear, and they'd forget to ask what it was he was really looking for.

 _Saturday’s Child Works Hard for his Living_  
Doyle was the tough man of CI5, the vicious honest copper who'd avoided turning bad, who believed in people. And his temper - well, his temper could be used to good effect on the Squad, channelled to the side of the angels. That was probably why he'd been partnered with William Bodie, ex mercenary, to remind him that the line was very close, would be very easy to trip back over. They walked it together, balanced each other. Where one rushed in, the other was right behind, watching his back, _pulling_ him back. George Cowley was pleased, and he worked them hard because he knew he could, because he knew that they were dedicated above and beyond anything else, to looking after the people on the streets. They were his top team, Bodie and Doyle.

 _But the Child that is Born on the Sabbath Day…_  
Doyle liked the life he had in the Big A. He knew he made a difference there, and he knew that while the grey was just as shadowed, just as murky and blurred as it always had been, with George Cowley as his boss he was finally doing a kind of good that stretched far and wide, that became whiter, cleaner as it reached across the streets. 

More importantly he knew that the man at his side could keep him home all through the night, tempting him with the kind of love that he couldn't abandon if he tried. Sleeping with Bodie was almost the best thing in the world. Waking up beside him was indescribable. 

_Life sentence_ , Bodie'd say with a grin, and there was nothing Doyle could do then but smile back.

_…is bonnie and blythe and good and gay._

 

_12th April 2009_


End file.
